Fearless by Brynley Bush

pulse racing. I shake my head, determined not to think about Beckett and the questions I now have about him. I will get my answers tomorrow night. There’s no point in getting worked up over something that may be nonexistent.
    Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. When I go to bed, I toss and turn. When I do finally fall asleep, I dream of Beckett, dark and forbidding, standing over me in a pair of faded jeans while I lay tied to his bed, spread eagled, vulnerable and open to him. I wake up aroused, something that has never happened to me before, and the confusion I feel, coupled with the frustration of denying my body the release it wants, makes me cranky and on edge. For the first time ever, I wish I had listened to Lainey and gotten a vibrator after my divorce. Since I don’t have one, I do the next best thing. I put on my running shorts, sports bra, and Brooks running shoes and go for a punishing five mile run.
    The run takes the edge off, but all day my mind keeps wandering to images of me tied up while Beckett does whatever he wants to my body. You never know what you might find you have an appetite for. Beckett’s words from last weekend swirl through my head, along with Lainey’s urging to see where it goes. That’s easy for her to say, I think darkly. Lainey was born with the sexual confidence of Athena.
    And then it’s seven o’clock, Nikki is safely off to her dad’s house, and the homemade cream cheese lasagna I put together earlier today is in the oven. Not surprisingly, my doorbell rings promptly at seven. I smile and shake my head. The man is chronically punctual. There are butterflies in my stomach as I open the door and drink in the sight of him—gorgeous, imposing, and impossibly sexy in a pair of jeans and a slightly form fitting t-shirt that outlines the hard muscles of his chest. My mouth goes dry. I love a man in jeans, and the way he fills his out, coupled with the lingering images from my dream….I force my gaze back to his face. He is looking at me with a combination of amusement and heat, and I can feel my face flush.
    He steps through the door, his mere presence making my entry feel much smaller than it usually does, and I take an involuntarily step back. In one fluid movement, he kicks the door closed behind him and presses my back against the rough textured wall of the entryway, his warm hands seeking, and finding, the bare skin of my midriff beneath the white lace top I’m wearing with jeans. Although his touch is light, his fingertips barely skimming my skin, my breath catches at the pleasurable hum of electricity that courses through me at his touch. In the five days since I’ve seen him I’d almost convinced myself I had exaggerated the sexual pull of him, but if anything the reality of it is stronger.
    His fingers close around my waist as he pulls me closer, bending his head to take my mouth greedily.
    â€œI’ve missed you,” he whispers, lightly nipping my bottom lip.
    My hands, which have been gripping his hard biceps, creep up to run through his hair, pulling him back for more. I pour all of the longing and need I’ve felt all day into the kiss.
    â€œMe too,” I say with a sigh when we finally pull apart.
    â€œI promised myself I wouldn’t touch you until after we’d had dinner, but that’s proving to be harder than I thought,” he says grimly.
    I love the desire I see in his eyes and how desirable it makes feel. Then I remember my conversation with Lainey, and the things I’ve read, and I turn away.
    â€œDinner’s almost ready. Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask.
    Beckett’s eyes sweep my living room as he follows me into the kitchen.
    â€œI like your place,” he says in that unsmiling but thoughtful way of his. “It suits you. Comfortable but eclectic.” He nods to my sofa piled with pillows in bright hues of turquoise, yellow and green. “And